Title: Rain
Author: AkizukiSakura
Pairing(s): Roy/Ed
Spoilers/Warnings: As far as I know, the spoilers are minimal. This diverges from both the manga and the anime, and I wouldn't be surprised if I get some facts wrong anyway (like the ages they were when each major even occurred). Also, this is YAOI. Don't like it, don't read it. Period.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I make no monetary profit from the writing and posting of this, or any, fanfiction.
Notes: While I have the facts straight, I don't actually have the plot pinned down to a linear format yet. So for now, I'm letting the characters write the story. It should prove interesting, at least.
I had meant to open this chapter with Ed, but then Al popped up because he wanted his share of the spotlight, too.
Many, many thanks to proser132 for taking the time to edit this for content and flow. Very talented writer and beta.
Chapter Three:In Which Some Questions are Answered
Alphonse Elric was the very definition of not happy, so much so that the dictionary entry would probably have his picture situated right next to it. It was rare that Al was not his usual cheerful self, but it did happen, and he thought his reasons for being decidedly bitter were very good ones, thank you very much.
Not only was his older brother missing – which in itself was a Very Bad Thing – but General Mustang wasn't going to let the younger Elric assist with the search. The General's decision annoyed him. Al knew his brother's habits better than anyone else. How was it not beneficial to allow him to help?
He scowled down at his biology homework without really seeing it, tapping his pencil irately on the kitchen table. Books, papers, and a few dishes littered the surface of the battered wood – he and his brother had tried to be thrifty with their money, so most of their furnishings were second-hand. Edward had been missing for a day and a half, now, and Al was having a difficult time concentrating on schoolwork when his only family had been kidnapped. He wanted to be out searching for Ed, not stuck at home like a good little boy! Why did Mustang have to make sense?
All right, so maybe the General had a point in that, yes, Al definitely fit the description of the victims. His hair was more of a sandy blonde than a true blonde and he was, perhaps, a little too old; but, then again, Ed was sixteen and he had been taken so perhaps the whole age thing was moot anyway. The stray idea that Ed was short enough to be a twelve-year-old made Al smile briefly as he thought of the rage Ed would be in if he ever voiced such musings aloud – at the very least Ed would screech one of his typical rants at the top of his lungs. The smile fell into a dark scowl as his thoughts turned inevitably back to the General's refusal to let him search.
Sure, Al knew well that the best way to ensure the cooperation of his hot-headed older brother was to threaten Al. Such a tactic had been used before – several times, in fact. If Al used all ten toes, both thumbs, and all eight fingers he'd still not have enough appendages to use to recount the occasions when Ed had been forced to submit on Al's behalf. Some of those times were used by the General, but they still counted. At least the General usually had their best interests at heart.
He frowned as he scribbled something about genetic breeding down on his homework, his handwriting subpar. His professor would probably be surprised by the apparent lack of effort – compared to Al's usual enthusiasm, anyway – that went into this paper. Usually Al took his schooling very seriously. Ed had provided for them both for so long that Al wanted to be able to bring income in, too. Ed deserved a break. Maybe if Al earned money, too, Ed might consider accepting a promotion. Majors received bonus money for being field officers.
Al wrinkled his nose. As if Ed would ever consent to becoming a paper-pusher. He stuck his pencil in his mouth and stared idly at the ceiling, wishing that they could call attention to his older brother's disappearance and knowing that it was a bad idea. The search for Edward was not public knowledge yet because the media definitely could not be trusted to be discreet. The last thing anyone wanted to do was spook the perpetrator into being more careful, or potentially deciding keeping Edward alive was not worth the risk of being caught. Al would very much like his brother to be alive when next he saw him. The thought that anyone would dare to harm his brother brought Al out of his chair. He threw his pencil down and began to pace, fingers curled tightly into fists.
Of course Al understood that his brother wouldn't want him to put himself at risk. Ed would say, rightly, that Al should let Major Armstrong escort him to class and that Al should concentrate on his studies right now because, really, what could Al do that the General and everyone else weren't already doing? But Al didn't want logic right now. He wanted to run through Central, transmuting buildings into rubble until he found his brother, and damn it Ed better be safe when Al found him! He snagged a mug of cold tea from the counter and stared at the leaves gathered at the bottom of the cracked porcelain, knowing intellectually that Ed would not want his little brother to put himself in danger.
Al didn't care. He was still unhappy about the whole thing, and an unhappy Elric was never a Good Thing. Al wasn't military. He wasn't obligated to follow the orders, well-meaning or otherwise, of General Mustang. He could go and look for his brother if he darn well wanted to, and nothing anyone else could say would affect that. Everyone knew his brother was an excellent martial artist – Teacher had taught him well – and that Ed was an extraordinarily amazing alchemist.
They seemed to forget that Al, too, had seen the Gate – that Al had also trained with Teacher, thank you very much, and that Al could still mop the floor with Ed when it came to their sparring. Yes, Ed was getting better, as he tended to fight more, since he still went on missions and Al was a student now, but Ed still sparred with him and Al was a quick study, just like his brother. It made up for the fact that Ed was a genius prodigy while Al was not stupid, not by any means, but he was perhaps not as much a genius. Ed just made these leaps of logic that no one else could follow, and yet still worked. His brain just seemed to be wired a bit differently. Perhaps that was why Al was so much better with people than Ed was.
Whatever. Al was giving the military three days to find his brother. If they couldn't, he'd explained quite seriously to the General, then Al was going to take matters into his own hands and deal with the consequences after. Perhaps he wasn't an almost impenetrable suit of armor anymore but he could still best nine out of ten opponents with ease. Mustang could take his well-meaning orders and stick them on someone who cared to follow them, and that would be the end of that.
Almost two full days had gone by and there was still no word of Fullmetal. Roy had a headache, partly induced from lack of sleep and partly from the grilling he'd received from Alphonse. How could the bronze-eyed boy possibly be more intimidating now than he had been as a suit of armor? Sure, he was taller than his brother, but he was shorter than Roy and Alphonse was just so polite and unassuming. It made no sense whatsoever that he was scarier as a human. Al's behavior only added to Roy's feelings, and the General was almost sick with worry as it was. Ed could take care of himself, true, but there were ways to restrain him. Simply take away his arm and his ability to transmute was severely handicapped.
Roy frowned into his glass of scotch, watching the firelight from his study's grate play over the slowly melting ice cubes in his drink. He wished he'd thought more before pouring the drink. The warm ochre hue of the liquid reminded him too much of Edward, who was all gilded skin and golden hair and beautiful, astonishing amber eyes.
Yes, perhaps the whiskey had been a bad idea, particularly if it made his thoughts of his subordinate wax poetic like that. Roy could be romantic when he wanted to be – the women of Central could certainly attest to that! – but rarely did he do such things without meaning to. Roy knew his feelings for Fullmetal were extremely dangerous, not only to his career but also his sanity. Fullmetal was a male, over half his age, a fellow State Alchemist, and his subordinate. Moreover, the youth had been under his command since he was twelve. There were already rumors about how someone so young had earned the privilege to carry that silver pocket watch, and very few of them were actually about Ed's alchemical talent. Ed didn't know about those particular rumors because Roy made every effort to ensure his young subordinate didn't hear them, but the barbs still stung.
He made a face and lifted the glass to his lips. He didn't know which was worse – that his colleagues would suggest anyone could take advantage of Ed in that manner (like Ed would even do something like that to begin with. The brat was way too headstrong to do anything so degrading, even for the sake of his brother) or that many of those who muttered about it did so with something very much like jealousy in their eyes. It wasn't necessarily that every man in the military was gay, either, but for some reason something about Fullmetal drew others like honey drew bees. Ed had been a truly lovely child. Age had only sharpened that beauty and now Fullmetal was stunningly attractive. Roy doubted he even knew how appealing he was.
Certainly Fullmetal seemed oblivious to the trouble Roy had to go to just to keep him safe. Sixteen was a tender age no matter how much Ed grumbled that he wasn't a kid, and Roy wanted nothing more than to protect him for just a little longer. Not everyone, however, shared that sentiment. There were plenty of others who would love to have Fullmetal under their command, not only for the boost to their career but also just for the pleasure of looking at him. They didn't even have to want him sexually. Edward exuded confidence and poise with every move he made, and his intelligence was truly a wonder to be privy to. Roy had lost count of the times he'd come across Edward in the library, only to be drawn helplessly to the aura the blonde exuded while studying. It was almost as though anyone around Ed could become more intelligent and attractive just by being in his vicinity.
There were a number of people who wouldn't hesitate to take Fullmetal away, and there were others who would let jealousy or greed get in the way of Edward's safety. Ed was a volatile, strong, reckless young man, but he was still a young man barely out of childhood. There were things that Fullmetal should not have to deal with, and Roy made a conscious effort to keep the young prodigy away from some of the darkest pits humanity had managed to dig. Roy had deliberately not mentioned Fullmetal's disappearance at the meeting earlier today, and had not had plans to say anything at all, except that Fuhrer Grumman had brought it up. Roy's lips twisted as memory interrupted his almost idle musings.
"Mustang!"
Roy turned, knowing already who had called his name in such an infuriated tone. He affected an expression of surprise anyway, as though he had truly been unaware that Major General Hakuro had been dogging his footsteps for the better part of ten minutes. Hawkeye had been good about turning away the busybodies from the office after the meeting, but now that Roy was taking a walk to grab some lunch he had to fend for himself. He stopped as Hakuro approached, saluting smartly. "General Hakuro," he acknowledged politely, albeit with a small frown. "To what–"
Hakuro scowled and cut him off. "What are you playing at, Mustang?" he demanded, yanking out a handkerchief and blotting the sweat from his brow. August or not, cooling temperatures or not, Hakuro was not in the best shape of his life and Roy had a long stride – particularly when he was trying to avoid nosey, irritating generals. Hakuro didn't even let Roy reply, bulldozing along with no trace of aplomb. "You've known that boy was missing since yesterday and you didn't even bother to mention it until this morning at the meeting? And you only said anything when the Fuhrer brought it up! What the hell are you playing at?"
"As you know, sir, regulation dictates that an officer must be missing for at least twenty-four hours before–"
The Major General interjected again. "Don't give me that bullshit, Brigadier General!" The way Hakuro emphasized Roy's title suggested the man was about to try and pull rank. Not even a moment later he did so and Roy had to struggle to keep his façade blank as the older man plowed on. "I am your superior officer! I demand to know why you waited! You know full well how valuable that boy is."
Roy raised a single eyebrow at Hakuro, falling easily into his role as an earnest, up-and-coming officer. "I was…unaware that you cared so much for my subordinate," he said delicately and watched with interest as Hakuro's complexion went from red to dead white in under five seconds. "I understand fully that Fullmetal is an asset to the Amestrian Army. I might go so far as to classify him a vital asset. But procedure is still procedure, Major General. Surely you aren't expecting me to flout policy?" Roy kept his tone bland and smooth, but he could almost see the cogs turning in the older man's head.
"You're hiding something from me. From all of us, damn it, and I order you to tell me what it is right now!" Hakuro finally blustered, reddening again.
Roy sighed very faintly, resisting the powerful urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, did the man really think he'd divulge anything he was hiding just because he was ordered to? "Sir," he began, and stopped artfully. It was best to appease the general, even if the information wasn't strictly accurate. Roy did not want someone as tactless as Hakuro trying to 'help' with the investigation into Fullmetal's disappearance. He began again after a measured pause. "Major General Hakuro, it would be in my best interest for Fullmetal to be found swiftly," he stated slowly and shifted just a little so that sunlight winked off the stars on his shoulders. "There is nothing to gain from keeping my superiors in the dark about any of my subordinates' disappearing, least of all him." Roy waited, keeping his expression calm. He'd been doing this since he became a Lieutenant Colonel.
Hakuro took the bait. He sneered, having glanced at Roy's shoulders, and crossed his arms. "I should have known. Of course you care about the boy. He's your ticket to promotion, after all." The Major General was needling him on purpose now.
Despite the vicious barb in the Major General's voice, Roy merely shrugged blandly, offering his most sincere expression for the man's perusal. "We use the tools we are given," he stated shortly, knowing when Hakuro sniffed that he'd successfully out-maneuvered the man – not that it had been much of a challenge. The rumors of a relationship that was more than professional between Flame and Fullmetal had picked up as Ed aged. More and more military brass were poking their noses into Roy's business and while he wasn't worried – there was nothing going on between him and Edward, after all – it was still annoying to have to take the time to derail their suspicions.
For one thing, Roy was still hungry, and Hakuro was taking up a long stretch of his precious lunch break with his petty words and pathetic attempts to dig at Roy. Hawkeye would kill him if he came back late. Luckily the older General finally grumbled something obscene under his breath and stomped away, allowing Roy to continue through the square. He hesitated when his gaze fell on the Xingian vendor he and Ed had eaten from on their not-date before he moved on. The memory of that evening was a pleasant one; he didn't want to taint it with the what-ifs of Fullmetal's situation.
And it hurt just a little bit to see that vendor and realize he and Fullmetal could only ever be comrades, if even that. Even if he was willing to risk everything – and he thought he just might be – the idea that Fullmetal would return his advances favorably was laughable.
Roy yanked his thoughts back to the present, drained the scotch, and set the glass down, ice clinking loudly in the otherwise quiet room. In the time he'd been lost in thought the fire had dulled down to embers and the lingering nighttime chill was beginning to invade the room once more. Roy got up with a small groan and moved over to the fire, tossing another couple of logs on it. Using the array he'd carved into the lintel long ago, he gently coaxed the flames up once more.
The grandfather clock, an antique that had been passed down from his great-grandfather, chimed the hour. Eleven chimes… When had it gotten so late? Roy traced his fingers over the well-worn shelves and much-loved books in his study as he padded across the plush carpet to drop into his armchair, tucking his fingers under his chin and staring moodily at the coffee table. A copy of the case file Fullmetal had been working on sat innocently on the coffee table, taunting him. It took more willpower than Roy would have liked to admit to keep from torching the damn thing. The fact that his gloves were across the room, resting innocently on his desk, helped.
He snorted at his own foolishness. As if destroying a copy of the file would bring Fullmetal back! Jean must be rubbing off on him if he truly considered that to be an alternative.
It was late already. There wasn't anything more he could do tonight. Perhaps it was time to go to bed… Roy sighed as he got to his feet, steady despite the amount of alcohol he had imbued. Was it even worth trying to sleep? Every time he closed his eyes images of worst case scenarios ran through his head. Fullmetal could be killed. He could end up like those children, all open-eyed and staring blankly, with an unknown cause of death. He could be found with a strange array carved onto his stomach, blood staining his caramelized skin…
The sound of the hall phone ringing tore through the ghastly images his mind had conjured up. For a moment Roy could only stare at the doorway to the hall in surprise. Who would be calling this late? Alphonse, perhaps? He padded across the room, snagging his gloves and pulling them on as a precaution. It wouldn't be the first time a high-ranking officer had been lured to a specific area by a seemingly commonplace sound. His bare feet were silent as he slipped across the hall to the phone.
"Brigadier General?" asked the voice of Riza Hawkeye before he could even speak. His heart leapt, stuttered, and began to beat harder.
"What is it, Lieutenant?" he asked just as shortly, hand tightening on the phone. Please, he thought desperately. Please don't be-
"We've received a tip, sir," Hawkeye said without preamble. She was slightly breathless, as though she was moving, and from the thumping sounds in the background Roy could guess she was pulling on her uniform. Heavy military boots hitting the floor sounded a lot like that. "Havoc has already been notified and is in the process of contacting the others. I will be at your house with a car in fifteen minutes," she stated sharply, as crisp as if it was the middle of the day. The line went dead and Roy tossed the phone at its cradle. It missed, but he was already halfway up the stairs to dress.
He had just finished tugging on his boots when headlights flashed in the window. Hawkeye would never be presumptuous enough to honk the horn, particularly at this hour, but it didn't matter to Roy. He barely stopped long enough to fix the phone and lock the door before he was all but flying down the pathway and slipping into the car. "Report," he barked as his Lieutenant threw the car into gear and eased up on the clutch. The situation called for haste, but slamming the clutch and gears around would only stall the car.
"One of Breda's lady friends heard what happened to Edward," Riza said without preamble. They both knew what sorts of 'lady friends' Breda had. If the information came from them, it was good. Hawkeye ignored the surrounding traffic signs and signals, running a red light without an ounce of hesitation. It didn't matter, anyway. The police wouldn't stop a military car no matter what traffic law was broken and, even if they tried, Hawkeye would simply ignore them. Ruffled feathers could be smoothed later – Edward was the important thing now. "She reported seeing flashes of light coming from her neighbor's house very early in the morning," the Lieutenant continued, looping widely around a slower vehicle. "The occupant on the deed is not a licensed alchemist, nor is he a State Alchemist. At the very least, a transmutation of such a large magnitude that it drew attention is illegal."
Fuhrer Grumman had passed a law that alchemy was not to be performed without a license. It wasn't a popular bill and Roy doubted it would last very long. The parliamentary court was already looking into getting rid of it. The thinking behind the Alchemist Registration Act was noble – to protect ordinary, non-alchemist citizens from large alchemical reactions that had not been sanctioned by the military. While it was meant to protect people, it still infringed upon their rights, and the Charter of Amestris strictly prohibited such a law. It had only passed to begin with because those generals in favor had outweighed those against.
Roy tugged on his gloves impatiently, giddy with the need to do something besides sit and wait. "Do we have any other information on the owner?" he asked, though he doubted it.
"Very little, sir," Riza replied with a trace of bitterness in her otherwise level tone. "We have a name: Dmitri Ivanov – he's an Amestrian citizen of Drachman decent, but as far as we could find, his family's been in our country for several generations. A nondescript man with a normal life – he works as a bartender. Fuery checked his place of employment, The Gilded Lily. He didn't report for his shift last night."
"A regular quiet one," Roy remarked acidly, glaring out the window irritably. "It's always the quiet ones," he murmured, rubbing his fingers together and feeling the reassuring rasp of the ignition cloth. If this Dmitri Ivanov had hurt Fullmetal in any way he was going to wish he was dead when Roy found him.
A horribly pounding head woke Edward from a strange dream of hot sand and bright sunlight. He was certain there had been more to it, but his thoughts swirled like water draining in the bath – touching multiple surfaces but eventually narrowing to a single thought: What the fuck happened? The last he remembered he was on his way to work. He'd taken his usual shortcut, turned the corner… And then…
His eyes snapped open, then immediately shut once more in pain. Wherever he was it was bright enough to cause his eyes to water. Right, then. Open eyes later, slowly next time. Instinct demanded that he push through blurry eyesight and come up fighting, but logic pushed those thoughts aside. More than once his recklessness had caused trouble, and while it was all well and good to put himself in danger, it was another matter entirely if his actions caused pain to someone else. He forced himself to relax, evening out his breathing and affecting the signs of sleep once more. Before he did anything, he realized, he should try to figure out what condition he was in.
He had the mother of all headaches, probably from whatever he'd been knocked out with. The pounding had settled to a dull throb now that he'd closed his eyes again, suggesting that any escape attempt would be a very bad idea. Too much movement would probably make him sick. Very slowly he slit his eyes open as, keeping his movements as small as possible to maintain his charade, he shifted just a little to ascertain his position. He was lying down, wherever he was, and the surface under him was extremely soft. It would have even been comfortable, if he hadn't been so concerned with what was going on. He was covered by something, too – a blanket, he realized hazily. He was in a bed with silk sheets, blessedly cool against his hot skin. He might be a little feverish, though he couldn't imagine why.
It was very strange that he woke in a bed. From what he could guess, he'd been kidnapped, but what kind of criminal kidnapped someone only to put them in a nice, soft bed? Weren't kidnappers usually less-than-charitable psychos or something? He opened his eyes a little more and waited impatiently for the room to come into focus.
Other than his head, he seemed to be fine. Nothing else hurt at all, though he felt a little weak. Maybe he really was sick – that would be just his luck. He moved his left leg, noting that it responded as smoothly as ever, then his right. Both were fine. It was only when he shifted his arms that he realized something disheartening – his wrists were chained down. He could lift them a few inches from the bed before the slack ran out. There was no way for him to bring his palms together unless he intentionally dislocated his shoulder, and even then it was no guarantee. Plus, it would hurt like a bitch. That was definitely a 'last resort' kind of plan.
Whoever had him knew who he was, then. They even knew he needed to clap to perform alchemy. Obviously this person had watched him for some time, as most normal people simply knew he didn't need to draw a circle to transmute. So he had a stalker? That was definitely creepy, though Ed was used to all sorts of weird people by now. He tested the manacles again and realized something. Interestingly, the cuff on his left arm didn't seem to be chaffing his wrist. Considering he didn't even feel cool metal on his wrist, he surmised that it was padded. A bad thought occurred to him as he remembered the pictures of the slain children. Their restraints had been padded as well.
Forcibly he thrust the idea away. He needed to focus on trying to get out of here, not worry about who his kidnapper was. He blinked a few times and, though it was still a little blurry, finally managed to bring the ceiling into focus. Very, very slowly, wary of his aching head, he turned his gaze to his surroundings. He was, indeed, in a bed – a large one, as it happened, with white sheets and a white coverlet. Even the pillows were white. How odd.
The room had two windows, though both were covered by white shades. No light gilded the edges of the drapery – Ed guessed that it was dark outside. The walls of the room were pearly white, as was the carpet. Even the furniture – bed, chest of drawers, single chair, and nightstand – was a snowy ivory. It was more than a little freaky. He felt like those crazy people who were locked in padded white rooms so that they couldn't hurt themselves. Central's first and second branch prisons had rooms like that for the criminals who were deemed insane.
There was nothing at all in this room to indicate the time and a perusal of his hips with his shackled hands indicated that he wasn't wearing his usual garments, which meant he didn't have his pocket watch, and his internal clock was malfunctioning; probably from the drug. He could tell he was barefoot. The slight view of silver to his right indicated that his arms and shoulders were bare, but his stomach seemed clothed. A tank top, perhaps? It didn't feel like his usual shirt, though.
So an extravagant bed, new clothes, and a scarily white room. What the hell? Movement drew his gaze. There hadn't appeared to be a door in this room but there was one, though it lacked any distinguishing features from the wall. It didn't even seem to have a handle. A man stepped through the doorway and Ed caught a glimpse of a dark hallway and a large male – an underling, presumably – before the door shut again. The man glanced at him and blinked in apparent surprise. For all that Ed was certain this man was not here to set him free, his mind immediately began cataloguing the man's appearance. Taller than Mustang, wiry, with an angular face that could be classified as 'handsome'. A smile lit the man's pale face and light brown eyes.
"Oh… You're awake now." His voice was smooth and pleasant and bore no noticeable accent. He crossed the room, his footsteps silenced by the thick carpet, and set the tray down. Ed glanced at it and hid a scowl. A white bowl of something that actually smelled pretty good, a white mug of something that was presumably water from the lack of scent, and a syringe. The man fiddled with something at the end of the bed and suddenly the bed lurched, shifting noiselessly on well-oiled hinges until Ed was sitting. Ed had been in enough hospitals that the movement didn't surprise him unduly. The sudden movement of the bed did, however, make him close his eyes, fighting down nausea with difficulty. "Ah… I'm sorry, Edward… I forgot that you might feel ill… An unfortunate side effect of the drug…"
Ed forced his eyes open again, lips curling in a snarl. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded, wincing at how raspy his voice came out – he was parched. He almost added and how do you know my name? but he was rather famous. It wasn't unthinkable that this man – whoever he was – knew him.
To his credit the brunette did not seem offended at all by Ed's language. He simply pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down, folding his hands in his lap. "You needn't curse at me," he said mildly. "All will be answered soon. I am Dmitri. Just a simple alchemist. Such a simple alchemist… Not like you…"
If Ed had to put a name to the emotion shining in Dmitri's eyes he would have called it 'awe'. Awe and perhaps a hint of hunger. "You drugged me, kidnapped me, and have me chained to a goddamn bed," Ed retorted bitingly, his tone incredulous. "Of course I'm going to fucking curse at you. What the hell do you want?" It unnerved Ed when the man – Dmitri – merely smiled indulgently at him.
"My, my… I simply came in to see how you were doing. I was worried you might have inhaled too much of the drug, and I require you awake for my plans. Are you hungry?" he asked, seemingly on a tangent, waving a slender hand gracefully at the tray. "It is quite safe to eat."
Ed started to say something scathing but an insistent rumble from his stomach cut off his words. He tried to remember the last time he'd eaten and realized grumpily that it had been when Mustang had treated him to dinner. How long ago had that been? He had no idea how long he'd been out for, but from the lack of sunlight against the shades it had been at least twelve hours.
Dmitri picked up the bowl. "I'm afraid I can't unchain you," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I know you would try to leave, and I can't have that." He offered a spoonful of something that looked and smelled like soup to Ed, who turned his head petulantly away. He was hungry, but no way was he taking food from a strange man – especially when said strange man had already drugged him once. The strange man in question sighed. "It really would be best for you to eat… You have gone almost two days without nourishment or water."
"Fuck y–" Ed began to snarl, only to find a spoonful of soup shoved into his mouth. Warmth spread down his throat, soothing it and awakening the hunger biting ravenously at him. It took a lot of energy to move with the automail, which was one of the reasons he ate so much. To have gone so long without eating or drinking, particularly after having been drugged unconscious… No wonder he was feverish. The mouthful didn't seem to make him sick and, while he was not about to trust this man, he knew if he wanted to escape he couldn't be weak with hunger and thirst. Glaring at Dmitri balefully, he let the man feed him the bowl of soup and the cup of water.
Dmitri set aside the mug and carefully, as though he was taking care of something precious, wiped Ed's lips with a pristine white napkin, calmly ignoring Ed's dark, homicidal glower. No one was allowed to treat him like a kid, damn it! Dmitri folded the napkin primly and set it aside. "You see? Everything is fine now, and our conversation proceeds ever so much more smoothly when you cooperate."
Ed counted to ten in his head to keep from exploding. For whatever reason this man didn't seem to want to kill him, which was a first. If he wanted answers, he was going to have to try and remain calm. Ed's eyebrow twitched with the effort. He didn't do calm. He had normal and he had enraged. There wasn't really a calm side of him, unless he was drugged. "Everything's just dandy," he mumbled, trying and failing to squash the sarcasm before the statement left his mouth. "What do you want, anyway? Why am I here?"
"Have you ever heard of the Fountain of Youth, Edward?" Dmitri asked simply, settling back in his chair. His expression of polite inquiry didn't change at all when Ed gaped at him.
"What the hell does that have to do with anything? It's a fable. A myth. It doesn't exist," Ed iterated for the man's benefit, disbelief evident in his tone. Had the man kidnapped him for information? What could he possibly expect Ed to know?
Dmitri's expression shifted just the tiniest fraction, and now there was a hint of amusement lacing his tone as he said, softly, "Rather like the Philosopher's Stone is hearsay?" He examined his nails for a moment, humming, before continuing. "I don't think you understand just how much I've watched you, Edward. I know what you were looking for – why you joined the army to begin with. I know why you were looking for the Stone. And I know you found it, even though you didn't use it." A pause. "Well, I can see why. So many sacrifices… Such an inefficient method…"
The blood drained from Ed's face. "What do you want?" he repeated finally, deceptively calm despite the fact that his heart felt like it was trying to hammer its way out of his chest. How could this man know about Al? And if he knew, who else knew? Human transmutation was an offense that would put him in front of a firing squad in the very best scenario. At the worst, he would disappear into the military's clutches as a test subject along with Al, probably never to see the light of day again.
"I happen to know that the Fountain exists," Dmitri said simply, as though he hadn't just turned Ed's world sideways. "The Xerxians wrote of it, though trying to find a scroll that is still intact is nearly impossible." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and opened it. "This is a transcription I made from just such a scroll. The source material is falling apart, so I prefer to not unroll it too often. It says, 'And of Our Decree, a library to house this Knowledge, such that We can seek it whenever We so choose. It shall not be for the Common, for the Knowledge is great indeed, and for Us only, as the Water's power is immense'."
Dmitri smiled gently at Ed, who was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. "This is part of the Scripture of one of the last kings of Xerxes," he explained breezily. "I have read a number of myths, some gathered from Drachma, some from Aerugo, even some from Xing and the lands beyond. The library existed, though it doesn't anymore. It seems that a group of peasants burned it down. But in that library is the key to the Fountain's location, and I will have it."
"That's all very fascinating," Ed drawled, venom dripping from his words, "but what does that have to do with me? And why go to all the trouble to be young forever? There are plenty of easier ways to do it." None of them were remotely pleasant, of course, but they were definitely easier than searching for a mythical library to find a key to a Fountain that had even less basis in fact. To his surprise Dmitri got to his feet, folding and tucking the paper away once more.
"The library is gone now. It once housed knowledge that is now, sadly, thought to be forever lost. But not for me. The Fountain grants more than simply eternal youth and, by extension, everlasting life. Ingesting the waters allows one to bypass the laws of Equivalent Exchange at a magnitude that even the fabled Philosopher's Stone cannot match. By drinking that water, reality becomes mine to control." His smile grew as he leaned down, reaching out to gently sift a hand through Ed's loose hair. "I was right," he murmured absently, completely off topic. "White really does suit you better, my golden one." He ignored Ed's thunderous expression at the endearment. "By using descendants of the inhabitants of Xerxes, I can fuel my array."
Ed was almost afraid to ask. "What array?" he ventured, gaze flicking around the room to see if he had missed anything.
Dmitri seemed amused by his sudden examination of the white room. "Oh, don't worry. I wouldn't put it here. This room was set up just for you to recover in." He brushed golden bangs from Ed's forehead, fingers trailing down to cup his chin. Dmitri's thumb stroked his cheek, his gaze almost reverent. "With a strong enough blood connection, my array will allow me to travel to the past. I will visit the library, find the key, and then I will find the Fountain."
"You're out of your fucking mind!" Ed exclaimed, struggling against his bonds. He'd dealt with crazy megalomaniacs with delusion of grandeur before but this guy really took the cake. "There's no way you could possibly have the kind of energy necessary to fuel that array! Even if you used me, you'd just end up stuck in the past, and what would be the point of that? No one knows exactly when or why Xerxes was destroyed." Well, Ed knew, courtesy of his father, but he wasn't about to say as much to this bastard. "For all you know, you'll die, too."
Dmitri pulled something from his pocket and held it up for Ed to see. "Oh, but I think this Philosopher's Stone will have plenty of energy. It was very old when I found it, but still quite powerful, and I have offered several lives to it recently. I did not mean to, of course. I had hoped the blood would be enough, but when it wasn't, I decided not to waste the lives of the children."
Ed blanched. "The blonde children," he whispered, feeling a little ill when Dmitri simply shrugged, walking the Stone through his fingers as casually as if it was a coin.
"They did not have enough Xerxian blood. The array would have killed them anyway, so I gave their lives to my Stone instead. It has enough power to send both me and you to the past and bring us back. Your blood will be the bridge between the times."
"You don't even know if it's possible," Ed said finally, quietly. He stared at Dmitri, teeth gritted. This man was the reason those children were dead, all for a crackpot theory on time travel. "You don't think alchemists have tried to travel through time before? The conversion of matter and energy is phenomenal." But they didn't have a Stone, he realized.
"I know it will work." Dmitri didn't seem fazed at all by Ed's anger. "Those children, even with no more than a drop of the blood, were still able to call an image of Xerxes before the array went awry. But your blood is strong enough."
"What makes you think I have the blood? And, anyway, if blood's all you need, why am I still here?" Ed demanded. "You're taking an awful risk, keeping me alive. I know you're aware that people will be looking for me, and that there's no way I'm helping you." He might have said more except, all of a sudden, lips were covering his. He froze in utter shock. Only when a tongue slid between his lax lips did he jerk out of his paralysis, teeth coming together with an audible click as he missed.
Dmitri laughed. It should have been creepy, or crazy, or any number of things, but it was actually pleasant. If Ed didn't know better, and had just met the man on the street, he would have thought it an attractive laugh. The man himself was not ugly by any means. "I know you do because Van Hohenhiem is your father." Ed blanched but Dmitri continued as if he hadn't seen. "I could just take your blood," Dmitri acknowledged. "But your death would be a criminal waste of your beauty. No, my golden one, I have other plans for you." He picked up the syringe and a note of reluctance entered his tone. "Unfortunately, the time approaches. I have found that midnight is the best time for such things, and we really need to be going."
Ed shivered as Dmitri pulled the blankets gently away from his chest and found that he was wearing a tank top like the one he usually wore, though this one was white and seemed to be made of silk. He tried to shy away from Dmitri. "Thought you needed me awake?" he snapped, pulling at the chains. The man pinned his flesh shoulder in place with one hand and Ed realized that, despite Dmitri's relatively slender build, the man was deceptively strong.
"This won't put you to sleep," he explained mildly, sliding the needle expertly into Ed's bicep.
Ed hissed. Why did it have to be a fucking needle? Ed loathed needles. "Then–?"
"It's a diluted paralytic drug. It will leave you conscious, but will prevent movement," Dmitri explained patiently. "I am afraid you will likely feel a little disoriented for some time after," he added with an apologetic note to his voice as he pressed the plunger to release the drug. "I am sorry to have to do this, but I can't risk you ruining the transmutation to bind you to me."
Ed started in shock as Dmitri withdrew the needle. "I thought you needed me for the time travel!" he asked, alarmed. Even now he could feel the drug beginning to work. A mild numbness began to spread through him at a leisurely pace, sapping what strength he had recovered and making him woozy. His thoughts and vision began to get hazy.
"I already have the blood I need," his captor said benignly, lightly placing his fingers over the pulse on Ed's neck and glancing at his watch to count. "I took it while you were unconscious. This array is something else. After all, I can't have my beautiful pet trying to escape me, can I? And I can't have you attacking me. This will ensure that you cannot do either."
Any protests that Ed might have vocalized became lost between his brain and his lips. He could only stare in blurry helplessness as Dmitri brushed his lips over Ed's brow, nose, and lips before he walked over the where the door was and rapped on it twice, paused, rapped twice more, and then slapped it with his open palm. It opened to admit a man who rivaled Armstrong in muscle mass.
"Don't worry, Edward… I will treat you with the all the reverence your beauty deserves," Dmitri murmured as he unlocked the chains and carefully scooped Ed up from the bed, cradling him bridal style without appearing encumbered by Ed's weight.
Ed tried to move his arms, or his legs, or even his fingers and failed miserably each time. He was completely at the mercy of Dmitri.
Word Count: 8,000
A/N: Oh my. A pretty pickle Edward seems to have gotten into this time, yes? Hopefully Roy will get there in time. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! It was a little difficult to write, for some reason, and my daughter kept crawling toward dangerous things so I had to stop her every five minutes or so until she went down for a nap.
I have to admit to being a little bit sad. I was very excited, because I thought I had been quite original with the (limited) plot of Phone Sex but apparently there's a doujinshi that is very similar to it. I checked it out on YouTube on the advice of one of my readers and had to be a little bit disappointed, because it is quite similar! At least it's in Japanese, though, so I have no idea what it was saying. If you check out Phone Sex and like it, then look up Glass Bean on YouTube. The artwork is quite pretty.
Incidentally, Phone Sex, my FMA one-shot, has gotten some absolutely amazing feedback; it's definitely the best-performing of my one-shots. If you've read it and reviewed, that you very much! If you haven't reviewed, I can only hope you liked it. It seems like that one-shot will end up in a series of small fics.
On that note, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review Rain so far! It really encourages me to sit down and write! Please continue to support me until the very end, all right? I really hope to make this story a good one!
On another, apologetic note, I am very sorry this took so much longer than usual to post. It took a little while (almost a week) for my beta to get to it (Betas have lives, too!) but I'm really glad I waited. I did a lot of editing on Proser's advice and I honestly think the changes make the wait worth it. You'll just have to trust me.
I hope everyone had an amazing Thanksgiving. I definitely ate way too much. Maybe I'll start working on my New Year's Resolution to lose weight early this year…
Also, if you haven't checked out proser132's stuff, you really should. You'll be in for a real treat if you do! I recommend Vienna. It's post-CoS, but so, SO good. You won't regret it!
Until next time!
~AkizukiSakura